


A Shift in the Winds

by ForceCookies



Series: The Boy Once Known as Credence [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Fluff and Angst, Gen, he gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForceCookies/pseuds/ForceCookies
Summary: Credence can never quite decide how he feels about his first memory of magic.Or: How a slight shift in the wind changes the fate of Magical New York





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little au cause I couldn't bear the thought of Credence growing up under Mary Lou's thumb

Credence’s first memory of magic was a funny thing. He could never quite decide whether the memory was a bad or good one. On the one hand, it was a bad memory because of the trauma that little piece of magic had caused. But on the other, that small piece of magic had had far reaching and positive consequences. So, that first memory of magic had very different connotations depending on how you looked at it. If you viewed it in that moment, from the perspective of child Credence, it spelt the end of his world. However, if you looked at it from an adult’s eyes, it showed a new beginning.

It had been a bitterly cold morning, possibly in November because Credence couldn’t remember seeing any Christmas decorations. Not that he remembered it all that well. They’d been standing in front of the New York Public Library, he and his Ma - Mary Lou that was. Mary Lou had been preaching her usual anti-witch vitriol and they had already drawn a curious crowd of onlookers, in spite of the awful weather.

Credence wasn’t supposed to be there that morning, but he’d dropped a jar of flour earlier and after receiving a sound thrashing, Mary Lou had decided that she didn’t trust him on his own. So, she’d dragged him along with her, hand clenched tight around his bony shoulder, ignoring his quiet whimpers of pain and pleas to slow down as she marched him through the frosty New York streets.

After what had seemed like hours of stumbling through the city, they had reached the library steps and set up shop, Mary Lou shoving Credence firmly down behind her with a warning not to move or make a sound or there’d be hell to pay. And so he’d sat on those steps quietly, attentively (at least for those first few minutes) ignoring the aches from their long walk and the pain from his beating.

Credence doesn’t really remember much about that day. He knows that it had to have been cold, because he shouldn’t have been there due to his lack of adequate winter clothing and Mary Lou’s lack of interest in dealing with a sick child. He knows that it had been November because he’d since been told as much, not because he remembers the lack of Christmas decorations. That was a fact that he’d inferred for himself. He knows that at least part of the reason his body had ached so while sitting on those steps had been because they’d walked rather than take the subway or a streetcar and he knows that this had also been part of that punishment. But that didn’t mean that he actually _remembered_ any of that.

But there was one detail of that memory, that morning, that he _did_ remember, one little thing that had always stayed, even when the years had scrubbed away all other details, one small, insignificant scent that without fail would take him back to that bitterly cold morning all those years ago.

He’d sat on those steps quietly at first, attentively, holding himself stiff and still. And he’d been doing quite an admirable job for a child of that age who was in considerable pain. But after a few minutes sitting in that same position, he’d had to shift his weight – he’d had no choice but to, he’d been going numb you see – and in doing so he’d sent a judder of pain up his spine. He’d gasped quietly, it was a reflex, he couldn’t help it! He’d quickly clapped his hand over his mouth and glanced around to make sure that no one had heard, that no one had seen. Luckily the crowd had been none the wiser, not even his Ma noticing his restlessness.

He’d held himself stiff for a few more moments before allowing himself to relax, wincing as he did so. And this was where it had begun to get hard. He knew that he would be in trouble with a capital T if he disturbed his mother’s impassioned speech, but he also knew that with the pain he was in he wouldn’t last very much longer. If he’d had a different upbringing or been slightly older, he might have suspected that that had been his Ma- No. That it had been Mary Lou’s design all along. Not his Ma. Never his Ma. But this Credence was too young, too trusting, to even begin to suspect that he may have been set up to fail. Because why would his mother do that? All she ever wanted was to help Credence be a good boy. She certainly couldn’t help it that Credence was a very bad boy and that no amount of correction was likely to change that.

Credence tried to distract himself, tried to find something to entertain him. Anything to take his mind off the pain shooting up his spine. Anything to show Ma that she shouldn’t worry about him so, anything to show her that he _could_ be a good boy! He’d tried watching the men and women hurrying past in their long warm coats, imagining up stories to explain where they were going in such a hurry. He’d tried counting to the highest number he could (each time getting distracted not long after hitting 200), he’d tried remembering the tune of a catchy song he’d heard wafting out of a bar a few days earlier, he’d even tried looking amongst the crowd to see if he could find any witches spying on the true believers. But no matter what he did, it had not been enough to distract him from the pain.

Years later he would wonder how it was that just at the moment he was about to give up – to give in to the temptation to curl up on the steps and potentially distract from his Mother’s speech, the temptation to be bad – that the wind shifted, bringing with it that scent that he would come to associate with comfort and love and signs of good things to come. But that was much later. As a child, Credence would identify the wind shifting as the beginning of the end.

Perhaps if the wind had not shifted it would have been years before Credence witnessed his first display of magic. Perhaps if the wind had not shifted this would be a very different story. A darker story, where nothing good ever happened to Credence and he grew up miserable and downtrodden, never receiving any love or care until it was far too late to change his fate. But shift the wind did, and it is a good thing that it happened at that very moment, or we would not have a story to share!

The wind shifted, just ever so slightly, barely enough to be noticeable. Certainly, the people standing out on the steps did not notice. And Credence would not have either, had it not been for one small thing; the scent that it brought with it. For the shifting of the wind meant that the conditions were just right that it brought with it a foreign smell, one that Credence had never smelt before, wafting all the way from the street vendor on the corner of 42nd and 5th up the steps of the New York Public Library and right under Credence’s little nose.

At this point it must be noted that the flour incident and subsequent beating had resulted in Credence leaving the house without any breakfast and as a consequence, at that particular moment, Credence would have been able to state with absolute confidence that this new foreign smell was truly the most glorious thing that his nose had ever caught whiff of.

Because of that little shift Credence was saved. This was because that smell – aside from tantalising his olfactory senses – had the added effect of causing him to forget his woes. Instead, Credence was free to sit on his step and imagine what fantastic feast could possibly be behind that wondrous scent. And if the meeting had ended there, this would be the end of the story, Credence would have gone home without further punishment, but he would not have witnessed any magic and so he would still grow up miserable and unloved.

Fortunately for us (and unfortunately for Credence) the meeting ran over, because in walking to the library Mary Lou Barebone had arrived ten minutes after the appointed meeting time and felt determined to talk for longer, in order to make this up to her audience. This suited her quite well, and for Credence, it meant more time to contemplate the marvellous feast hiding just out of sight. And more time to recall the empty feeling in his stomach. And more time to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could make his way across to the other side of the steps to see if he could find this feast without having his actions observed. And more time to weigh up whether the risk was truly worth it.

As Mary Lou Barebone talked and talked, Credence Barebone surreptitiously shuffled just a small fraction of an inch from his mother. And then just a little bit more, and a little more, until he was a good two feet from his starting spot, at which point he realised that no one was actually paying him any mind and it would look altogether less suspicious if he simply got up and walked. And he did, wincing as his body uncurled itself. He paused for just a moment when he finished standing, watching, waiting for someone to call him out, but no one did and so he was free to follow his nose.

Credence crept his way across the steps, little eyes scanning for his feast, before he reached the bannister on the other side and peered over. He looked around frantically, little head turning this way and that as he tried to spot the source of the delectable scent, but there was nothing there. No bakery, no café, not even a street vendor. He was just leaning back in disappointment when suddenly the busy crowds on 42nd street parted and he was able to make out the vendor with his little burner and sign reading ‘Hot roasted chestnuts 5¢’. Hot roasted chestnuts? Credence had never heard of such a thing, but to produce such a smell they must be food fit for a King, never mind a little boy who hadn’t had any breakfast before walking 3 miles. 

Credence was just contemplating sneaking down the steps to make his way closer to the mysterious chestnut man when he heard Mary Lou’s voice cut through the roar of the city. He whipped around in horror, because he recognised those words as the last sentence of her speech. In a moment she would turn around and find him missing and he would be in for a world of pain. Credence stumbled back across the steps, desperate to make it back to his spot with Mary Lou none the wiser, but it seems that luck was no longer on his side, because he was within a foot of his destination when he tripped, his foot catching on Mary Lou’s donation jar and sending it flying.

*

He remembers the moments before the jar broke, watching it clatter down the steps and the fear that accompanied it. Forget dinner tonight, he wouldn’t be eating for a week. And that was only if Mary Lou didn’t murder him first. Following this there were probably a few moments of confusion and then horror, but all he can remember is the sheer all-encompassing terror that he had experienced in the moments following the jar repairing itself, terror wrought by the sure knowledge that Ma had to have seen, and all those people around had to have seen and there was no way that he would survive the night.

*

This is what happened. In the presence of the 32 No-Maj’s listening to Mary Lou’s lecture, plus the countless other No-Maj’s in the vicinity, Credence Barebone tripped over the New Salem Philanthropic Society’s collection jar, sending it flying down the steps of the New York Public Library and shattering upon impact. Money was strewn everywhere and poor little Credence froze in horror. While this was devastating, surely spelling a beating the likes of which Credence had never seen, he would have been fine eventually had it not been for the money gathering itself up and returning to the jar as it reformed, before flying into Credence’s hands. Credence, not expecting this, promptly dropped the jar, causing it to bounce like a rubber ball right down the steps of the New York Public Library and then out onto Fifth Avenue.

As far as accidental magic went, it wasn’t the most spectacular display New York had ever seen, however it was notable in that it had occurred in a very public place, amongst a group of people who were disinclined to be charitable towards magical folk. And poor little Credence stood frozen, eyes fixed on the jar disrupting traffic, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Mary Lou Barebone however, knew exactly what had just occurred and wasted no time in elucidating her gathered followers.

For Credence, the next few minutes passed in a blur as the crowd converged on him, ready to tear him to shreds, entirely prepared to do whatever it took to beat the devil out of the small child. Credence desperately tried to back up, tried to stumble backwards up the steps, tried to look around for a friendly face, but he was caught in the firm grip of his mother and the crowd closed in too fast for him to call for help. This means that he never saw the adults who desperately tried to rescue him from the mad crowd’s clutches. But it also means that he was not alarmed by the dozens of men and women who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, shooting light from funny sticks and subduing the mad people around him.

The first he knew of these new additions to the crowd was when he was swept away from the hands grasping and clutching him, tearing at his hair and clothes, striking and scratching at him, up into a set of strong arms. The crowd disappeared around him and he was pulled into a warm firm chest, a hand gently rubbing his back as a soft, kind voice crooned sweet nothings in his ear and rocked him gently. Credence looked up to find a black haired, black eyed man dressed in black peering down at him solemnly and promptly burst into terrified tears.

But the Dark Man did nothing more than continue rocking him, whispering quietly in his ear as he attempted to comfort the distraught child. After a while he climbed the steps and took a seat surveying Fifth Avenue, settling Credence comfortably in his lap and drawing him close. The Dark Man sat on those steps for an age, simply holding Credence as he sobbed, humming soft tunes in his ear and gently rubbing his back.

‘There you go. That’s it. You’re alright. You’re safe kid.’

Eventually Credence’s heaving sobs became hiccups, which slowly petered out into sniffles. The Dark Man produced a handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopped up Credence’s tears, before covering his nose and instructing him to blow. Then he shifted Credence in his arms, standing up and bopping him gently him on the nose with a small smile.

‘All good?’

Credence nodded hesitantly, returning the Dark Man’s smile with a tremulous one of his own.

‘Good.’

The Dark Man headed down the steps, reaching into his pocket once more as he went. If the Dark Man hadn’t already won Credence’s heart with his soft words and kind actions, what he brought from his pocket certainly would have. For from his pocket came a crumpled paper bag that carried with it a delectable scent. The Dark Man pressed the bag into Credence’s little hands and he opened it to find it filled with little brown balls, still warm from the roaster. He gasped, bringing the bag closer to inhale its scent before looking up to see the Dark Man watching him fondly. In that moment he knew that he would follow the Dark Man anywhere.


	2. Postscript

_Postscript_

The boy once known as Credence Barebone hurried through the morning foot traffic on Sixth Avenue, towards Bryant Park, looking for an alley where he could safely disapparate. As he walked the wind shifted, blowing into his face and bringing with it a long forgotten but familiar, comforting scent, that of chestnuts gently roasting. It had been years since he had smelt such a thing and he slowed his pace, glancing around to see where the smell might be springing from.  When his eyes failed, he closed his eyes and followed his nose.

Presently, he found the vendor across the street, standing on the corner of 42nd and 5th, the same place that first vendor had stood all those years ago. Beside him was his little brazier on wheels and a sign reading ‘Hot roasted chestnuts 5¢’. Once-Credence came to a stop, watching as the crowds parted around the man, seemingly unaware of his presence.

As he watched, he turned out his pockets, hunting for some No-Maj currency, however when he turned back the man was no longer there. Once-Credence looked up and down the street to see if the vendor had moved along, but there was no one fitting that description amongst the crowd. He blinked and shook his head, watching for a moment longer before shrugging and continuing to his apparition spot. It must have been a wistful imagining.

He reappeared in the lobby of the Woolworths building without breaking his stride. As he crossed the lobby, he saw someone turn to look at him and then head towards him. Recognising that dill-brain Abernathy, Once-Credence made for the lifts post-haste, trying not to appear as though he were fleeing! He gave the lift elf the floor he wanted and patted down his pockets again, pausing when he hit a lump in his breast pocket that hadn’t been there before.

As he exited the lift, he removed the strange object from his pocket. He stared at it in confusion for a moment

Distractedly acknowledging the greetings of the other denizens on the floor, Once-Credence walked with a single-minded purpose to his destination. He stopped in front of a beautifully carved mahogany door, rapping on it gently and waiting for an acknowledgement before entering. Percival Graves sat behind a grand desk, methodically making his way through a stack of paperwork and did not look up to acknowledge the interloper in his domain.

Once-Credence closed the door with a thud and swiftly crossed the room, dropping into one of the elegant chairs positioned before the desk, cheekily slinging his legs over the arm of the chair.

‘The strangest thing just happened to me, Papa,’ Once-Credence began as he dumped the chestnuts on top of his Father’s paperwork. His father paused and looked up.

‘What are you doing here?’ Percival Graves wore an expression of fond exasperation.

‘You forgot your lunch!’ Once-Credence produced said lunch from a pocket. ‘How do you survive while I’m away at school?!’

‘I make do.’

‘Well obviously not well enough. That must be why you’re so skinny when I come home for break!’

Graves set aside his paperwork and leaned back in his chair. Once-Credence took this as an invitation to continue talking.

‘I also came in to file some paperwork. But first…’ Once-Credence launched into his story about the mysterious chestnut vendor, his father listening dutifully. Exactly fourteen years had passed since that bitterly cold morning had brought two lost souls together, changing the fate of Wizarding New York.

All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows where I might find a beta reader, don't hesitate to drop me a note :)


End file.
